Under the Rose
by Arienna
Summary: Draes spent years fighting in Outland under Kael'thas. Ordered to Azuremyst Isle he is tasked with interrogating prisoners taken from The Exodar. When one captive, Vyskania, tells him of the Prince's treachery, will he choose love and treason, or loyalty?
1. Under the Rose

_Absurd Disclaimer: I don't own or hold any rights to World of Warcraft. All references respective to the game are copyrighted to Blizzard. Please do not copy this story without my permission (do I really have to say that?)._

**Under the Rose**

**Chapter 1**

"_I, Draes Athirien, Vice-summoner of the Defiant Sun, confess to treason. I have lingered in the dark will of our enemies, endangering both my comrades and our honored King. It is with utmost humility that I accept the punishment that is laid out before me, hoping, but not asking, for the slightest of mercy to be shown." _

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Interrogations were one of the few things that Draes hated about his job. The dim labyrinthine forests that surrounded the Blood Elf camp were another thing, yes, but interrogations vastly outranked the scenery of Azuremyst Isle on his mental list of unpleasantries. So much work went into retrieving, documenting, and analyzing the babble of semi-coherent prisoners that it was a wonder their expedition hadn't reached its end sooner. It was the same routine every week. Two or three suspects would be herded into the holding cage and left to starve for eight hours or so. They would wail and curse, throwing up their arms to shout the obscenest of phrases at their guards. More than once, the guards had been irked into preemptively beating their captives. Such acts were punished heavily by General Cor'theryn, who held firm that guards should guard and interrogators should torture. Maintaining ranks was vital in the troop's indefinite stay in Azuremyst, lest mutiny cause an irreparable schism in the network of Kael'thas loyalists.

_Prisoner 93: Twelve outbursts of "Death to Kael'thas!" and four shouts of "Curse the Sin'dorei and their progeny!" Fifteen minutes of excessive sobbing. Physical and magical methods (instruments 2-17. Spells 4, 11, and 15) were applied. No new information acquired. _

He set his quill down, pausing to replay the torture in his mind. Did the prisoner beg for death fifteen or sixteen times? It was a needless detail that still needed to be included in the writings, along with a full account of dialogue exchanged between captor and captive. Draes despised writing such reports. Not out of any moral distaste for torture or violence. He enjoyed causing pain to their enemies, and was upset at being cooped up inside for "office duty." Unfortunately, the Defiant Sun wasn't able to request secretaries from Silvermoon now that it was under the command of Lor'themar Theron, or simply "Traitor" Theron. The pompous gnat barred all followers of Kael'thas from the city, their homeland for centuries. Many of his comrades experienced outrage or heartbreak from the decree, but not Draes.

There was no woman to wait for him, no parents to write to him, and no family who would ever miss him. Sironas, his only sister, was the wife to Silvermoon's finest cloth dyer. They had long fallen out of touch after their parents died. For all she knew, he was living happily ever after in the outskirts of the city.

"Do you really have to write all that nonsense down?" A voice came from the doorway.

Draes didn't bother acknowledging the presence until it drew closer, its shape darkening his peripheral vision. Pentaleon always knew how to push his buttons, knowing that to stand in corner of Draes's eye caused more annoyance than any amount of foot tapping or whistling.

"Writing all this 'nonsense' has gotten me appointed Vice-summoner. Where has sneaking around in the shadows gotten you? Ah, that's right. You're only one rank higher than when you enlisted. Mostly on account that all recruits are promoted after a year of service. Now, how about you make use of that flash powder and vanish?"

Pentaleon merely tisked at his comrade, wagging a slender finger to emphasize his playful chastisement, "So moody! How about you, me, and a mana crystal forget our worries over a jug of wine later?"

"No," he answered flatly.

"Ah, come now. I know you love crystals as much as I do. In fact," he mused, "I've been thinking about naming my daughter Crystal."

Pentaleon's daughter was around two years old by now and, most likely, had a name that didn't relate to their race's incurable addiction to magic. Stifling a smirk, Draes reflected on all the cruel taunts that such a name would inspire amongst her future classmates. _I'd mana tap that Crystal anytime. _Or perhaps, _Hey, Crystal. Wanna see my large glimmering shard? _Oh Sun, he could come up with these for hours. Remembering his previous annoyance with the rogue, he recomposed himself.

"That's wonderful, Pen. Now, take your mana crystal and get out." He pointed to the door.

Muttering a slew of rather creative insults, Pentaleon stalked away. Though they had been fast friends in the beginning, Draes was growing weary of his comrade. Desire to excel simply took the backseat in Pen's set of priorities, resulting in several disciplinary actions and a few days in the cell for insubordination. Sighing, he continued to write. It was getting late and his normally elegant script was diminishing into a tired scrawl. Best leave the report until tomorrow morning, he decided.

He pushed his chair back, the legs eliciting a loud squawk as they scraped against the floor, and went to the basin to freshen up for dinner. The cool water slid down his cheeks in small rivulets that converged at his bottom lip. Looking up, he was met with a sight that he hadn't taken in for some time. The looking glass harshly reflected his angular features, showing no mercy in mirroring every fine wrinkle and blemish. Fel magic had a beautiful irony. It enhanced the attractiveness of his people, making the women appear gracefully feline and granting the men that Titan-like physique. Yet, as time passed, it wasted them. It worked its way into the body, corrupting each cell to its secret will. Such corruption was already evident in him, given how often he wielded the powerful magic. His deathly pale skin was stretched tight over the fine bones of his face, making him look drawn and tired. His mass of raven-black hair was pulled back into a messy foxtail, wisps of it poking out in all directions. At least he wouldn't have to worry about attracting the airheaded priestesses that flitted about, looking for men to treat them like princesses.

Pulling the thick grey hood of his robe over his head, he left the tent. Thick droplets of rain pelted his face as he trudged toward the mess hall. The camp was a pitiful sight. A cluster of wood-framed tents were erected with no particular pattern around several small campfires.. The Defiant Sun, originally stationed in Outland, was ordered to Azuremyst Isle after the Exodar's crash to ensure that the Draenei kept out of the King's affairs. Not much progress had been made so far, and Draes felt his own impatience growing. They were given instructions to abduct, interrogate, and kill any Draenei they crossed paths with. But any intel that could be gained from these abductions was either vague or irrelevant. There were no large scale attacks planned for the camp and few of the Azeroth-bound Draenei seemed a threat to Kael'thas or Quel'thalas. They were more preoccupied with handling the dead and injured, than plotting revenge. So far.

Draes lifted the flap of the large mess tent, pausing at the entrance to let a warm gust of air settle over his cold skin. Steaming bowls of lynx meat soup with spiced rolls were placed before the hungry soldiers who were crammed into the benches at either side of a long table. Pentaleon was sitting at the opposite end of the room, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke to a blonde huntress. The amount of flirting the elf did was enough to make Draes wonder at which point Pen realized that he would never return to his family.

"Late to dinner once again, Vice-summoner?"

His gaze turned to the petite woman before him. "Yes, I'm afraid. I'm glad that I managed to come just in time to see the food run out."

A broad smile flashed instantly across her pixie face. "Early bird gets the..umm.." she paused, repeating the words as she struggled to complete the idiom.

"Worm, Arana. Early bird gets the worm." He fought down the impatience that roiled in the pit of his stomach. "Not a single scrap is left?"

She leaned close to him and cupped her hand to his ear. It was everything he could to do not shy away with revulsion. Arana, the cook's apprentice, wasn't unattractive by any means, but her abject stupidity challenged his resolve. Warlocks were often branded as haughty or aloof, but there was a tangible reason for why his class avoided outsiders. They were overpoweringly dull, both magically and intellectually. In his counterparts, he sensed the vast reserves of raw magical power and, on rare occasions, was tempted to siphon it for himself.

"I have something for you that's even better," she whispered excitedly, unaware that the puffs of warm breath that escaped her lips sent the hairs on the back of his neck straight up.

_How dare she stand so near to you. Show that miserable wretch her place. _Draes gritted his teeth against that familiar dark voice that dwelt in the recesses of his mind. The voice was an ominous reminder that he was going to have to bleed himself tonight. The practice, a well-guarded secret amongst Sin'dorei warlocks, seemed to ease the concentration of magic enough for normalcy to reign once more.

Arana led him outside and around to the back of the tent where the cookfire blazed. A cauldron of boiling water hung over it, attended by bored apprentice. Clasping his hand—why did she have to do that—she led him to a deserted area of the outdoor kitchen.

"Here it is," she smiled, lifting a tightly-wrapped bundle of cloth. "Now, don't burn yourself. Take it back to your room, so no one sees that I baked it for you."

Curious, he unraveled the cloth. A cloud of trapped steam billowed upward, misting his face with faint droplets of moisture. It was a meat pie, large and perfectly golden . The aroma of it sent his stomach into an upheaval of embarrassing growls. Draes paused, considering whether or not to accept the generous gift. Surely, Arana had gone through a fair amount of trouble to bake and conceal it for him. That could be a problem.

"Let me get you a few silvers," he said, digging through his pocket with one hand while he balanced the pie in the other.

A light grasp to his forearm stopped him short. "You don't have to pay me, Vice-summoner. I just don't like to see you go hungry."

Her hand dropped to his wrist, fingers gently caressing his skin. He shivered under her touch, not bothering to hide his disgust. Being touched without permission was something Draes could not abide, no matter who did it. Women never kept their hands to themselves and, ironically, accused males of the same indiscretion. _She desires you. _The voice mocked him now, sending pangs of rage and humiliation through him like shocks of lightning. He should have never gone with her, never let himself be seen with her. This revolting creature was only sparing him her kindness because she wanted something in return.

Thrusting the pie at her, he growled, "If you will not accept my payment, then take it back. No gift is ever freely given. Do you think me a complete backbirth?"

Her lips twitched nervously, "N-no, Vice-summoner. I merely.."

She stepped forward then, coming even closer than she had earlier. Did the girl have a death wish or something? Before that train of thought could lead any further, her lips crushed to his own. They were wet, slimy even. A fury that he hadn't felt in so long seized him. He wanted to strikeher, to make her pay for humiliating him like this. How dare she think herself worthy of him? Draes paused, realizing that his addiction was at least partly to blame for his sudden temper.

The color fled from Arana's cheeks as she watched him, eyes wide with fear. The polite, quiet warlock she exchanged pleasantries with these past few months had transformed into something else entirely. His lips were set into a tight scowl, eyes smoldering with hatred so pure that she could almost feel the heat of it scorching her. Surely, he could not be angry at her for kissing him. His lips were so very kissable and she often felt herself daydreaming about what they would feel like against her own. The situation had gone horribly off plan and she needed to know why.

"Do you not like women—" she ventured.

Draes scoffed at her question, "I don't like _anyone._" _Especially not as slow-witted as you, _he bit back.

Before she could say any more, he turned his back to her and left. His swift stride carried him away in moments, leaving her alone..dumbstruck. She swallowed against the painful lump that was rising like dough in her throat. Cheeks burning with embarrassment from his intense scorn, she set the dish on the earthen floor, close to the woods. _Let the vermin eat it. _Apparently, that's all it was good for.

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A/N: You got to the end, did you? Well, please leave a review and tell me what you think! :)


	2. Combat

**Chapter Two: Combat**

"You really musn't be so cruel to her. She _does_ prepare our food, you know?" Pentaleon shot him a meaningful glare.

They had been scouting around the Exodar since dawn and Draes' legs were beginning to feel like pillars of lead. Every now and then, a sound in the distance would send Pen's ears to perking up and he'd quietly slip away to investigate. It was during those times that Draes could think freely without feigning interest in the rogue's nonstop chatter. Were it anyone but Pen, he would have immediately brushed them off with a harsh word or two. Talkativeness was a trait that Draes usually associated to selfish people, but not in his comrade's case. Pentaleon _did _enjoy talking, but he rarely delved into longwinded digressions about women he fancied or men he had fought. The only times Draes felt truly annoyed at their one-ended conversations were when the subject involved him.

"We're not discussing her," he said guardedly.

A disgusted groan escaped Pen's mouth. "You're not even saying her name now? Is it cursed because, Gods forbid, she developed a little crush on you?" He didn't wait for Draes to reply, "She doesn't realize that you're just a mean old man deep down inside. Give her time and she'll come to understand that your bitterness isn't attractive and your sour moods can't be cured by romantic walks through the forest. If that doesn't work, you could always bring up the fact that you encase the souls of your enemies into bits of glass to summon your demon minions. That actually might go over better."

It was Draes' turn to act disgusted now. "You're suggesting that I indulge her infatuation? Are you mad? I've seen rodents display more intelligence than that..that _woman_."

"'That _woman,'_"a female voice mocked from over his shoulder. "What is your deal, Draes? Is my feebleminded gender causing you distress with our feminine wiles?"

_Oh great, Nyvene the Bitch Queen had to overhear us._ The broad-shouldered paladin eyed him with cool contempt, her shockingly blonde curls bouncing as they ascended a slope. Had Nyvene simply been ill-tempered and sarcastic, Draes might actually like her. It was unfortunate that her abhorrent ignorance and egomania spoiled any hopes of civility between the two.

Before the argument could escalate, a gauntleted hand went up in a gesture of silence. Their scout leader, Caziel, tended to only draw attention to his presence when absolutely necessary. His quiet demeanor was often met with criticism by Captain Cor'theryn, who was used to barking orders at his men and throwing in a few curse words for good measure.. When Caziel spoke, however, his words commanded the attention of those around him in a way that far surpassed the methods of his superior.

"Voices," he said, pointing to an area of the forest that was thick with underbrush. "Investigate it."

With a brief salute, Pentaleon pulled his facemask up over his nose and stealthed. Caziel was right. Draes had to strain, but he could hear at least two voices in the distance—one of them was definitely male. Nyvene's hand went to the mace at her belt when she, too, heard the sounds. A few moments passed until Pen returned, his shape fading back into view. His face was taut with anticipation.

"Three of them, one male and two females. The women were plainly dressed. Civilians, by the looks. The man is definitely a warrior though."

Caziel nodded, then unsheathed the large sword he strapped to his back.

"Take the warrior. If the women fight, kill them."

Without another word, they took their positions. Caziel led, flanked by Nyvene and Pen. Draes took up the back, keeping him a safe distance from the melee. Removing a soul shard from his pouch, he summoned his Felguard. The demon appeared, it's gilded armor gleaming in the forest's light. It could almost be called a beautiful creature were it not for the scowl that twisted its lips, revealing a set of unusually sharp white teeth.

Caziel brushed past the overgrown foliage, his large frame creating a path through the ferns. The voices were beginning to grow distant as the group walked away. If they didn't move quickly enough, the pack would get away. Draes gritted his teeth, tempted to tell Caziel to speed up before their day was reduced to a leisurely hike through the woods. Light be damned if he was going to miss out on action after being cooped up inside the day before.

"They're passing through the clearing ahead. You two," he gestured to Draes and Nyvene, "go to the other side. Cut them off if they try to escape."

He could see them now, close to the center of the clearing. The foolish Draenei. They knew of the Sin'dorei's offensive stationed here, yet they strolled around like tourists. Draes wrinkled his nose in disgust as he watched the trio laughing, landing playful slaps on each other's arms. He narrowed his eyes at the warrior, calculating which spells would hinder him best while the others attacked. In addition to im, he would have to immobilize the women if they were stupid enough to fight back. It was an easy task that didn't need four people to complete. The element of surprise worked wonders and Draes found himself disappointed at the lack of challenge. Hiding his dismay, he and Nyvene edged their way along the tree line to the other side of the clearing.

When Caziel was sure that his soldiers were in place at the other end, he charged in. The warrior must have been a good swordsman, for he unsheathed his blade just in time to parry the paladin's attack. One of the women tried to run, but was overcome by her own clumsiness when she tripped over her long dress. The other one scowled, her eyes searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. Nyvene was on her in a fraction of a second, her mace raised over her head as she prepared to strike. Draes watched the ensuing struggle with interest. The woman, dressed in nothing more than a ratty gown, was putting up a decent fight. She managed to dodge Nyvene's initial blow and was now clutching a dead branch to defend herself with.

"Master?" his Felguard prompted.

Draes waved him forward, sending the demon to help wrestle the emboldened female to the ground. Nearby, Pen's immobilizing poisons were taking effect on the warrior. The Draenei moved with considerably less speed, his large form floundering in a sea of relentless attacks. The sight strangely reminded Draes of a bull being put down. Despite the odds, he still fought with everything he had. He struggled over to the woman battling Nyvene and tried to place himself directly in her path. But Draes was quicker. A spell was already formed on his lips, sending a fiery bolt of pain through the warrior. The warrior collapsed to the ground writhing, his alien face contorted with pain as the fire assaulted him. Draes turned to search for the clumsy woman, but she must have stumbled away in the chaos.

Despite that, one thing was for certain. It was too easy.

Nyvene had the woman in a headlock, dragging her carelessly toward Caziel. Despite the damning hold on her, the Draenei squirmed, trying to bite and claw her way out. Her eyes burned with menace as a torrent of unkind words flowed from eerie blue lips. Draenei was not an attractive language. It was both nasal and throaty, the syllables clashing together in discord that reminded him of a piano being smashed to bits.

"Draes," Nyvene began, her voice rising an octave as she mimicked the sweet lilt of the upper-class Sin'dorei women, "Do be a gentleman and dispose of this pest for me."

She shoved the Draenei woman to him with more force than necessary, resulting in a cry of surprise from both parties. This is where Nyvene earned her place at the throne of bitchiness. Somehow—Draes could never figure out how—she was able to glean fragments of information about people that they thought secret. Nyvene must have overheard something from someone and come to the conclusion that Draes avoided using physical violence out of distaste for it. What a perfect chance for her to get revenge. In all honesty, she was correct in her assumption. He preferred striking his enemies to death with a powerful spell, or outwitting them some other way. When he interrogated his prisoners he seldom touched them, leaving any physical torture to Alexion, the General's intelligence expert. Though inept at asking questions, Alexion was quite deft at extracting answers from their captives, using any means to drag the truth out into the open. It was the smell of blood that Draes despised, along with the feeling of slicing a cold blade into hot living flesh. Murder didn't frighten him per se, but it made him feel slightly ill. At that moment, Draes wished he hadn't underestimated her cunning. He also found himself wishing he had been friendlier to her

"Be quick," Caziel said to him simply, his eyes lingering at the woman for a moment. With help from Pen and Nyvene, he turned away and dragged the unconscious warrior out of the clearing. Looking over her shoulder, Nyvene winked and flashed a mocking grin.

The woman was _still _struggling against him, her long nails digging into his wrists. Shoving her roughly to the earthen floor, he drew the dagger at his side. If he wanted to avoid getting sick everywhere, he was going to have to do it quickly. Before he could lean forward to bring the blade across her neck, her hoof shot forward and planted itself between his legs. _The cursed bitch. _The force of her kick nearly sent him to the ground curling up in a ball. Fighting the pain, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back to the ground with all his strength. His hands wound themselves tightly around her slender throat until he felt her heartbeat hammer against his palms. Something about t it held his attention for a few moments. Yes, he could definitely feel her pulse, but also something else. As the muscle expanded and contracted, the tiny whisper of another heartbeat echoed back from somewhere within her.

Years of teaching that Draes had struggled to oppress crashed to the surface with such ferocity that he wondered if the Draenei might use his momentary distraction to her advantage. She had stopped squirming and was now looking up at him, her glowing eyes fixed on him with an unfamiliar expression. He wanted to know why it bothered him so greatly that she was pregnant. A cursory look at her stomach showed no physical evidence of such, but what he felt was unmistakable. Did she even know she was with child?

"_Please.." _she whispered in Common, her brow creased pleadingly. She knew she was nearing her end.

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a hand rested gently, but firmly, on his shoulder. Draes looked up to see Caziel. The bulky paladin towered over him, his crested helm sparkling cheerfully in the sunlight. His mouth was pulled into a tight line that let little show in way of his emotions. Draes wasn't sure if he was angry, dissatisfied, or just indifferent.

"I will do it. Go," he said before Draes could comment.

A surge of frustration suddenly soared through him. _He thinks you're too weak to do it, _the familiar voice teased. The frustration was quickly replaced with the burn of embarrassment that was cropping up with surprising frequency these days. If his scout leader didn't think him able to complete a simple execution, what did that say for his skills as an interrogator? If he didn't kill this woman, he could very well lose his reputation. Draes looked up at him again, this time his face marked with such defiance that Caziel's unreadable expression hardened with scrutiny.

"I won't ask again," he said in a low, menacing, voice.

Draes steeled himself against the taunts that were building up within his mind, provoking him. _Can't even kill a woman, _the voice sneered. Turning his back to Caziel, he stalked out of the clearing to join the rest of the party. He wanted blood for what just happened. Someone needed to pay for the humiliation he just experienced. Caziel, maybe. But he was only guilty of the same pompous do-gooder attitude that plagued most of his class. Nyvene was the real snake in the grass. He would make her pay in a way she would never forget. In his state, murder seemed a viable option, but he dismissed the notion almost as soon as it came. While his mind explored various ways with which to exact revenge, Caziel returned. He sheathed his sword and motioned the group forward, everyone—even Pen—remaining silent as they hiked back to camp.

It had been a long day and it was just about to get longer.

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_A/N: Blarghh, my horizontal lines aren't working again. Anywho..thank you Forlorne and Zetsuke for your reviews! I've been wanting to do a DraeneixBelf fanfic for a while. Enjoy!_


	3. Hope

**Hope**

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Hope is a naïve emotion. Not only naïve, but irrational. To put faith in a good outcome against insurmountable odds was something Draes _never _did_. _Yet as he made his way through the crowded mess tent, he couldn't help but hope that his mealtime would be absent of the two faces he dreaded the most. Yes, hope was irrational, but it was better than utter hopelessness. It could be possible that Arana contracted food poisoning, or that Nyvene accidentally fell on her sword. It was too bad the paladin wielded a mace. Even still, he struggled to retain the last shred of optimism he had.

There was no need to look up when a ladleful of stew sloshed over the side of the bowl onto his lap. Arana's feral green eyes would, no doubt, be glaring back at him. Were it any other day, he wouldn't hesitate in dragging the little wench to the detainment cell in punishment. Unfortunately, their latest prisoner was chained up in there, leaving with no other choice than to overlook the hostility. Draes lifted his spoon, ready to sample the stew when a shadow slid into the space next to him, a feather-light breeze accompanying it moments later.

"Vice-summoner?" Alexion panted.

Draes raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

It was always slightly amusing to see his corpulent co-interrogator bustle around the camp like an old hen. Beads of sweat rolled slowly down his young face as he ungracefully situated himself on the narrow bench.

"The warrior your group captured earlier. He's, well..dying. The guards were transporting him to the cell when he regained consciousness. He took down two guards before they were finally able to knock him out with their clubs."

"And?" Draes fixed his eyes on Alexion's mouth. It was a trick he picked up years ago that gave the illusion that he was listening intently to the other party. That way, he could think about more important things while the elf prattled on.

"And they roughed him up a little too much. It's a relief those idiots are only given blunt weapons. They'd have hacked him to bits if they carried anything sharp. Anyway, the general is ordering us to conduct the interrogation before he dies. Which'll be soon, by the looks of him."

A shrill laugh cut through the tent, causing the low rumble of conversation to pause momentarily as two dozen pairs of eyes turned toward its source. Draes turned his head as well, wholly unsurprised to see that the obnoxious sound had come from none other than Nyvene. She towered over a group of the younger paladins, their faces lifted up to her in awe. Catching his eye, she leaned over to one of the males and spoke softly. Their gazes flicked toward Draes, then quickly away as both erupted in laughter at their private joke. But it wasn't so private. Nyvene's triumphant smirk was evidence enough that they had been laughing at him.

"Let's go," he said abruptly, rising from the bench.

As usual, he would go without dinner.

* * *

The detainment cell was the only wooden structure on base. No more than a squat two-room building, it played host to the interrogation of over three dozen Draenei captives thus far. Draes always disliked the building. It lacked the ornate beauty that was ever-present in Sin'dorei architecture, down to the dome-topped tents that dotted their encampment. It was the type of building that gave no evidence to skill and accomplishment of his people, instead looking like it was built by a band of nomadic Kobolds.

In the gloom of the evening, Draes could barely see the warrior in the cage. He approached the Draenei slowly, setting his lantern on the hook outside the iron bars before entering. The creature's body laid flat on the floor, cushioned by nothing but the cold touch of stone underneath. Kneeling beside him, Draes paused to assess his condition before speaking. Even in the twilight, he could see the myriad of bruises and gashes along his face, arms, and chest. Dark blue blood streaked across the crown of his forehead all the way down to his neck.

"Draenei," Draes spoke in Common.

The creature's eyelids slid open slowly, revealing a set of dim, vacant eyes. They met his own blazing emeralds with indifference, or perhaps some other emotion. Facial expressions of their species mystified Draes. He could only confidently gauge their more passionate emotions, like fear or anger by looking at their mouth or the creases of their forehead. The mask of calm that stared at him with empty eyes told him nothing.

"Who are you in the employ of?" he asked formally. The list of introductory questions rushed to his mind automatically as he readied his staff for the volley of spells about to be cast.

No answer.

Alexion, who had been quietly observing, barked the question in Draenei, only to receive the same blank stare. Draes motioned the younger elf to him.

"Break his legs," he said curtly. Then turning back to the warrior, he spoke, "If you tell us what we need to know, we will let you die in peace. Your obstinacy is achieving nothing."

Alexion started toward the warrior, hesitating as the alien's faded lips parted, preparing to speak.

"You don't promise peaceful deaths to the women and children you murder," he rasped, his chest heaving with effort as he pronounced each word. "You cut them down like they are no more than cattle. I would never dishonor their memory for fear of pain."

His voice broke at the last word as a fit of coughs overwhelmed him.

Grabbing a fistful of the warrior's chestnut hair, Alexion wrenched his head upward to face Draes. The warlock stood, arms outstretched as he summoned a bolt of shadow magic directly onto the prone figure before him. The creature writhed, his teeth chattering as the pain ripped its way mercilessly throughout his damaged body, igniting each nerve in his body with unceasing fire.

"I call that Spell #2," Draes said calmly, "It's one of the lightweight preliminary spells we start with. Now, let's begin again. Tell me your name."

Still in thrall from the convulsions of pain, he spat, "Why don't you show me Spell #1?"

Draes smirked. Wit wasn't something common among the Draenei, though he'd never exactly been on joking terms with their kind. Coming from a warrior, it was even more rare. The creature cried out as Draes brought down a curse of agony onto him. He watched as Eredar shuddered from the unbearable force of the spell, his eyes clenched shut as it assaulted him relentlessly. It was a nasty curse that did more than cause physical pain. Every bad memory, emotion, and thought filled the head of the victim. It was a method of torture in itself, leaving the tormented to believe that the only way to end such suffering was through the release of death.

With a wave of his hand, he diminished the spells' effects. "Are we ready to cooperate?"

But the Draenei merely stared back, his face fixed with the same unreadable expression as before. Alexion retrieved a clamp from the belt at his waist and stepped to the creature's side, suspending the tool over its head. In a single fluid motion, he ripped the warrior's right horn from its head. It separated from his flesh with a sickening squelch that made Draes' stomach shrink as he watched the blood spurt upward. The wound overflowed with the sticky blue liquid, traveling slowly over the ridges of his forehead into his eyes.

"_No_," he whispered in between gasps, "I will not relinquish my dignity to you parasites."

Draes snorted, "Relinquish? I'm surprised you're still capable of multi-syllabic words. Most people cower and weep at your stage. For your family's sake, I urge you to reconsider your defiance. They'll want to be able to identify your carcass when we toss it back into the woods."

It was a lie. They burned the bodies, actually. Of course, he wouldn't tell the alien that. The warrior's eyes closed as he laid there silently for a long moment. When Draes was about to order Alexion to fetch the bucket of water to revive him, the creature finally spoke.

"You have already stolen my love away," he said slowly, "When the Light embraces me too, I will return to her."

He could feel Alexion's gaze upon him then, awaiting his next orders. Draes closed his eyes briefly against a chill of remembrance that bore into his stomach like an icicle. The brave woman in the clearing was the Draenei's wife. As they neared the end of the battle, his last act was to place himself in front of her as a shield before he was brought down by Caziel and Pen. Steadying his breath, he forced the realization away to the coldest recesses of his heart, preparing himself for the damning words he was about to speak. For the first time, he took no satisfaction for the pain he was about to cause the broken thing that lay before him.

"The Light _never_ embraced your wife," he began, talking more quickly so that his voice would not falter,"She died like a dog, her body ravaged by magic so dark that not even your precious Naaru could expel it. The curse I set upon her laid waste to everything, even the little brat in her stomach. When you see her again, it will be in the shadows. It's what you deserve for not protecting her. You will never be a hero, no matter how much you endure."

A choked cry escaped the Draenei's throat as a bolt of grief shattered him into nothingness. His fingers dug into the stone floor as violent sobs wracked the tortured body, leaving him no mercy in its wake. Draes' fists balled reflexively at his sides, nails pressing deep into the flesh of his palm until he could feel the warm flow of blood drip down his fingers. Despite the desperate pleas in his mind that told him that the words were necessary to break the alien's resolve, utter self-loathing seared his very soul. He had utterly destroyed the being in a way that was unforgivable, no matter what race he was.

In his agony, the Draenei could only mouth the last word that would ever pass his lips again.

"Monster."

He nodded. Such a description wasn't far from the truth. At that moment, it was all too clear to Draes that he didn't simply mock hope, he destroyed it. Hope was something he never had, yet he knew that ripping it away from another being took a part of himself along with it. Time would pass, more interrogations would be held, and he would dminish into a husk of who he once was--who he could have been. For once in a while, he was glad of that. Maybe like Illidan Stormrage, he could sacrifice the weaker half of himself and gain fathomless power in return. Nonetheless, there had to be some way to stop the traitorous regret he felt for the nameless creature.


	4. Vyskania

**Chapter 3: Vyskania**

* * *

Nightmares were not a rare occurrence for the Draenei of Azeroth. The detail with which a mind could replay traumatic events, down to the most minute detail left the survivors of The Exodar with a newfound relief for the distraction of grueling labor. Skilled warriors, magi, hunters, and priests took on secondary roles as carpenters, herbalists, surveyors, and even cooks. They dispersed throughout the Isles in two groups: one for the recovery the of superheated scraps that lay shattered across the lands and the other for the revitalization and survey of the islands .

Vyskania was part of the second group and, to her annoyance, she ended each day in her pod, unceremoniously scrubbing away the mud caked to her hooves. Eat, sleep, work. Had her parents been alive, they'd have looked down their noses at her lifestyle, nevermind the noble cause Velen stood for. But they were right. Ending her nights like this wasn't befitting. She considered the thought with a tinge of regret as she dressed for bed.

Joining the single most crucial force dedicated to securing a future for her race wasn't a mistake, but it made her realize how foolish she was. Every half-hearted protest made by her relatives to sway her from the decision to leave Draenor was defied out of principle. Except now, she wasn't sure which principles she set out to uphold.

Either way, it didn't change the fact that if she couldn't scrounge up a new pair of gloves soon, she would be digging through the red mud of Bloodmyst Isle with her bare hands. Just as Vyskania hung the tattered gloves to dry, a knock rattled the door. The force of it sent the flimsy walls of the pod quivering, as if caught in a tempest. She rose, reminding herself to let Lyri know that her home, despite its shortcomings, was wholly undeserving of the abuse inflicted upon it by her colleague's eager knuckles.

"I know, I know. It's late," Lyri said, stepping awkwardly past Vyskania to place a bundle on her narrow cot. "Do you think you can drop these potions off at Azure Watch tomorrow? Paaran will give you a ride to The Exodar, but you'll have to hoof it (she gave a light snort at the unintentional pun) from there."

It was at times like these that Vyskania wished she could speak. Muteness had an infuriating disadvantage in that it rendered her written responses ineffectual compared to the spoken words of others. Sure, she could underline the words "Hell no" or write them in bold letters, but even that seemed slightly comical. It was going to rain tomorrow and a hike through slippery undergrowth wasn't something she was going to let herself be convinced to do. At least not without some effort on Lyri's part.

Sensing her hesitance, the priestess added, "If you go, you won't be left fetching slime samples with the others."

Vyskania cocked a surprised eyebrow in response. _Damn_, she had forgotten about that. Truly, cleaning the transdimensional latrines was better than slime collection, but she wasn't about to give away her bargaining rights just yet. Removing the water-stained notepad from her pocket, she scribbled:

_Fine. In exchange for a new pair of gloves—not the ones you fished out of the river last week either._

"Of course! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, th--"

The resulting thank-you's were muffled as Lyri flung her arms around Vyskania, oblivious to the day's accumulation of dust and sweat that clung to their clothes. When she finally disengaged (after a few awkward pats), her tired face was transformed by a smile so bright that Vyskania felt the corners of her own mouth twitch upward in grotesque imitation. Ever cheerful, Lyri had a way with raising the spirits of those around her with uncanny ease. Priests referred to it as "positive bedside manner," but even that term didn't fit. Manners were a learned behavior that one mastered with age, whereas Lyri was..Lyri.

After a few moments of silence, Vyskania flipped the notepad over to write another message. With every stroke of the pen, her heart beat faster. The question had been on her mind for more than a few days but she had allowed her current survey mission to distract her from her anxiousness.

_Did you learn anything?_

Lyri's gaze flicked downward to rest on the message, her beautiful childlike face shadowed with pain. At once, Vyskania felt a stab of guilt for bringing up the issue. She had no excuse. There was such thing as not thinking before one spoke, but writing at least gave her the upper-hand when it came to choosing the right words. It was already obvious that she hadn't discovered the cause or a cure for Vyskania's muteness. The news of it didn't upset her; she half-expected it. Everyone, from traveling wisewomen to learned anchorites shrugged and smiled apologetically, each proffering their own vague explanations as to why a perfectly healthy child would lose the ability to speak.

"Sometimes, people's voices get frightened away. Maybe when your parents died.." Lyri began slowly before trailing off.

A flash of anger darkened her cheeks and Vyskania struggled to remain calm despite herself. It wasn't fair. She _remembered _what it was like to speak, to sing. The death of her parents, something that happened when she was just a child, couldn't possibly have had such an lasting impact on her. Especially not after nearly ten years of silence.

"I know you don't want to believe it, but it may be true. There's nothing physically wrong with you—at least not that I can see. Whatever reason for it might lie in the mind. This doesn't mean I'm going to give up searching. We don't exactly have much literature on anything, much less muteness. I really thought I could find the answer, Kania."

Vyskania shook her head forcefully in response, the previous feelings of guilt evaporating as anger and betrayal filled their place. How could her best friend take the side of perfect strangers? If the only person who knew her best came to the same conclusion as everyone else, did that mean she was just crazy? She drew a trembling breath before raising her head to face Lyri. The priestess' face was the perfect image of innocent shame, as though she were a child who'd just been caught in a fib. If such was the case, then Vyskania was the indulgent parent, unable to harbor any lasting anger in the presence of earnest humility. It wasn't worth lashing out when it was clear that Lyri had only meant to offer the most logical explanation.

_I'm not angry. The situation..less than tolerable, but I'll manage. Goodnight._

Even her handwriting wasn't good at lying. The staccato lines of the words were reminiscent of a ransom note at best. After they said goodnight, Vyskania lay awake, suddenly grateful that she would alone in the company of her thoughts during tomorrow's journey.

* * *

"If I may, sister," the Elekk master said the next morning, unbuckling the sword at his side and handing it to her. "The forests, as you know, can be very dangerous."

Confused, Vyskania gestured to the dagger securely strapped to her leg. Paaran, kindly as he was, had an overbearing father-like quality that was as annoying as it was thoughtful. With the physique of a stone pillar, he towered over her. His skin was the palest shade of gray that, at present, matched the overcast sky above. The stolid expression he usually wore lightened with amusement when he saw the small dagger.

"It's a fine dagger, if you're harvesting herbs," he teased gently. When she answered with an indignant huff, his features softened, "Would it matter if I told you that it'd ease my worries?"

She took the sword without complaint, pulling the strap through the buckle to the last notch. Even then, it hung loosely around her, clanging against her thigh when she moved. Wonderful. Maybe the droves of Blood Elves that lurked throughout the woods would mistake the sound for a cowbell. Irritating as it was, she felt relieved at having a decent weapon—nevermind that she wasn't skilled with it. She tried to keep up on her combat lessons, but as seasons changed and the sun set earlier, it was hard to still have time for practice. Amongst the overwhelming number of Velen's fighters, she was part of the minority that had not specialized in a class. Though she had elementary training in most aspects of swordplay, she achieved very little in way of being able to actually do harm to another.

If worse came to worst, she could just wave the sword around and hope it was enough to scare off the Sin'dorei pigs. Assuming they were as cowardly as everyone claimed them to be, it couldn't possibly too hard a task.

"Vyskania," Paaran said uneasily, casting a sheepish glance at her. "If you like, I can cancel my appointment and escort you there myself."

_No. _She mouthed the words to him, hoping he was able understand so she could avoid wasting her precious few scraps of paper to tell him that he shouldn't worry. With a disappointed smile, he nodded in understanding before taking the reins in his hands and whistling his large mount forward. The beast grunted and lumbered forward, its massive body carrying its master away with surprising speed. As Paaran disappeared in the distance, Vyskania saw him turn in his saddle and glance back in her direction.

Shrugging the bundle over one shoulder, she set off. Merchants on their way to The Exodar passed her, their wagons jostling noisily against the crude path. A few nodded politely to her, but most were lost in conversation with each other or half-asleep. Sleep. It was something she was going to need a lot of tonight. The damp air sought its way past her worn cloak, prickling her skin with its icy touch. Had she known that Azeroth would be such a damnably cold planet, she'd have at least dressed accordingly. Mended cast-off robes were barely cutting it as the rainy season took charge of the Isles. Or she could follow Lyri's advice and take a boyfriend for warmth. The thought of inviting a man to the tin can that was her home amused her slightly. She herself was barely able to stand fully upright without her horns grazing the ceiling. The thought of the well-muscled men of her race attempting to maneuver her tiny pod, while funny, left her disappointed. With most of the men holed up in barracks, there was nowhere proper to be comfortably alone. This was evidenced by the occasional sounds of pleasure she heard in the fields while coming home from surveying. The fact that people still had the energy to make love after a grueling day's work was a mystery to her. She had never been with another, but she wasn't sure she'd be inclined to lie with a man after handling a basket of fel cone fungi.

As she crossed the bridge, a drip of rain stung the tip of her nose. Groaning inwardly, she looked up at the mass of heavy gray clouds coalescing in preparation for a torrent of rain. The potions would be fine, but she wasn't dressed warmly enough to handle more than just typical rain. The single raindrop soon turned into a light shower, matting her cloak against her soaking hair. Gods, this was just her luck. The bread she packed for her lunch would likely be a spongey mess if she kept going at this rate. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the unfamiliar forests for shelter. Tying the hood of her cloak tightly in place, she ventured off the road into the forest. She knew better than to sit beneath a tree, but her field of vision was decreasing rapidly as the rain began to pour down in blinding sheets and she had to get somewhere quickly.

Venturing deeper into the woods, she fought through the bushes and branches that clawed at her mercilessly. Color fled from her face as fear and cold slowly took possession of her senses. The possibility that she could die here and never be found was increasing by the moment. The sound of thunder interrupted the already deafening hiss of rain, accompanied by wild flashes of lightning in the distance. Not bringing Paaran along had indeed been stupid of her.

An hour or two must have passed, but she had no measure of how long the storm had been raging. Vyskania pressed her numb fingers to her lips, hoping her warm breath would restore sensation to their frozen tips. Sinking against a the base of a tall pine, something she wouldn't have done an hour ago, she curled up with her cloak around her. Thoroughly soaked, teeth chattering, she let exhaustion win out for a few moments' rest.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to all who commented! I found this chapter especially challenging to write and I think some of you can emphathize with situations where you reallllyy want to write about your favorite character, but need to expand onto the ones. :P If you enjoyed this story (or didn't!), please let me know! Your comments are valued and appreciated. _


	5. Summoner Tylane

**Summoner Tylane**

* * *

There were worse things in the world than reporting to Summoner Tylane. A bite from a venomous snake, or perhaps being chained to a rock in The Barrens, but Draes was never sure which fate was worst. A priest could abolish the ravages of venom, just as a mage could conjure pure spring water in the middle of a wasteland. What could warlocks do? Fuck all. Every month, he delivered the stack of reports that no one read so they could be filed away in a dank storage cell, or tossed in a brazier. Whichever the Summoner preferred. The portal to Tempest Keep was constantly under attack, making the journey toward it long and treacherous. The sun was low in the sky when he neared the portal. Fine red dust blanketed the island, so red that the scum Kaldorei who first settled these parts named it thusly--Bloodmyst Isle. The heat and desolation reminded Draes of Hellfire Peninsula, or perhaps it just reminded him of hell.

As he felt himself begin to slump in his saddle, a shimmer of violet light brought him upright. _At long last. _He kicked his mount to a gallop and the beast responded with such force that he nearly lost grip of the reins. Aye, a beast she was but she did not tire like normal horses did. The mounts of warlocks were called from the Nether, a realm where demons thrived without nourishment or sleep. A stableboy made to take his reins as he approached the small camp that guarded the portal.

"She doesn't require stabling," he said.

He had come upon the lad at least eight times on his missions to Tylane, each time denying stables and each time, the boy would nod and shuffle back to the mound of hay that served as his bed. Still mounted, he rode through the camp to the portal. Throwing back his hood, he saluted the two soldiers stationed at both sides of it.

One of them peered up at him, his eyes baggy from exhaustion. "Any news from Azuremyst?"

"Why, yes," he answered, enthusiastic. "We've regained control of The Exodar and it is snowing in Thousand Needles."

"We have The Exodar? For certain?" his eyes were wide with shock.

_No, you idiot, _he wanted to say, but there wasn't time for that. He had made poor time on the way to Bloodmyst, which left him with two sleeping arrangements that he wasn't keen on. Lodging in Tempest Keep, where he wasn't likely to get any sleep at all or in the ramshackle camp set up around the portal. Either option wasn't appealing, but he couldn't sleep on his mount.

* * *

"Late as always, I see," her voice came from behind a crumbling marble bookcase. "I don't know why you don't just let me summon you here myself."

Draes strode toward her voice, "I don't know, Tylane. You have a rather nasty habit of summoning me into your bedroom. Isn't it customary for the woman to at least cook her man a good meal before the bedding begins?"

Normally, he couldn't stomach this type of banter with women, but Tylane was an exception to many of his rules. A tall, willowy brunette with a stern face and high cheekbones, she had an allure to her that Draes could never quite define.

"You will address me as Summoner," Tylane said coolly. "As for the bedding. You've already made it clear that you can't handle me."

She came out from behind the bookcase, setting a stack of dusty scrolls atop her worktable. There wasn't time for this. He hadn't eaten since morning and the last thing he needed was to be drawn into one of Tylane's digressions for which there was never any hope of escape.

"I apologize, Summoner. Your reports, as delivered," he tossed the folders onto her worktable, scattering them perilously close to the pile of ancient scrolls that looked ready to crumble at a finger's touch.

If she was annoyed, she put every effort into keeping it from him. Lifting the folder at the top of the pile, she skimmed through it, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He shifted, a sudden tinge of awkwardness pinkened his cheeks and lowered his eyes. She had never bothered to read his reports before him and he highly doubted that a spark of interest in his activities motivated her.

She flicked to the last page, "Aw, the poor warrior," she pouted, "There's no happy ending?"

"He told us nothing, so we hacked his body up and burned it. You wouldn't call that a happy ending?"

Her eyebrow raised, "One less Draenei, to be sure. Two, if you count his woman. It says in your report that you killed her, yes? What was it like?"

_Three if you count her baby. _But he hadn't written that in the report. He raised his head defiantly. "It was like killing any other goat."

She merely _tsk'ed. _ "Why do you bother lying to me, Draes?"

"You will address me as Vice-Summoner," he said, trying not to let the quaver in his voice show. _Enough. It is no use to play the fool. She already knows of what happened in the forest. She is giving you a test, and you are failing it._

Tylane returned to sorting the scrolls. "These scrolls were hidden in the bowels of Tempest Keep. They were thrown into a potato sack, and marked as scrap metal."

"Get to the point." He wasn't going to let his guard down this time.

"They're just manifests. Of passengers they carried, fruits and wines they transported, of repairs and the like. Useless information. So why hide it?"

Draes rolled his eyes. _Ridiculous. _"Perhaps the customs officials in Draenor were real bastards and didn't allow fruits to be transferred between planets."

"Perhaps."

Her eyes beheld him for a moment before she tossed his reports into the brazier with a flick of the wrist. The flames rose to consume it, swallowing the file whole until no record remained of his treachery. Some part of him cried out against the burning. He wanted it to be known what he did. If people knew, he could tell them why. He could defend himself, and if he failed at that at least he could be punished. _Masochist._

"The very last line," she unfurled the scroll, pointing her slender finger to the spot on the old parchment.

Draes' brow furrowed when he read it. His Draenei wasn't the best, but the letters didn't seem to form any word he recognized. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what to say to such an anomaly.

"A code?" he suggested.

She smiled, "The master sequence code. Our King, wise as the sun is bright, ordered it to be tested on all Draenei vessels, but it was only compatible with The Exodar. If we had more time, our engineers could have rigged it so that we had remote access to the ship's functions. We could have grounded The Exodar, locked every door within it and slaughtered those fools where they stood."

"Twice you've said 'could have.' What we could have done matters little now. In fact, it doesn't matter at all."

"Draes," she said softly, sweetly. "You misunderstand what I'm trying to say."

Tylane went to him, her cloth shoes barely making a sound as she closed the distance between them. The reaction he felt to her closeness sickened him. A flush of heat crept up the back of his neck and he felt his cock stiffen beneath his rough traveling robes. Images flashed through his mind of her on the table, no, the floor. The things they could do..the pleasure he could give her, or she him. The temptation to take her almost overwhelmed him and he knew that seduction was another game she played, but his body betrayed him and his mind would follow suit in a matter of time. This was why they kept their distance from each other. Fel energy was potent in the both of them to the point where they were drawn to each other's stores of it like moths to the lantern.

He took a step back.

"What I meant, my dearest student, was that no one is ever who they say they are. It's a cliché, tired bit of advice that has been true for as long as our people have been walking on two legs. The scrolls were presented merely as documents of administration, but they held so much more. We question the Draenei we capture because they are much like this document. They claim to be simple laborers, novice mages, or cooks. But they're nothing near innocent. They commandeered a vessel that was ours by right of conquest and murdered your comrades. Each of them, man and woman, played a role."

Draes turned the words over in his mind. She was right, in essence. Each Draenei either killed, or knew that the task of killing might fall to them when they wrested the ship from Sin'dorei control. He should have came to that conclusion himself, but he hadn't wanted to. They were nothing like the innocents, travelers, and merchants his group preyed upon when they were stationed outside Shattrath.

"I did not come here to be toyed with. I did not come here to listen to you dance around the real matter with your pretty words and philosophical notions. I came here to drop off a damned stack of files that nobody reads--"

"I read them," she interrupted.

"That _nobody_ reads. It's already painfully clear that Caziel has contacted you about what happened in the forest and demanded that I be reassigned or beheaded, or whatever it is that Bloodknights view as justice these days. If I have to listen to any more talk about scrolls or people not being what they seem, I'll gladly lay my own head on the chopping block. So just tell me, as simply and directly as possible for such a woman like yourself, what my punishment shall be."

Tylane's eyes twinkled with amusement and she brought a milk-white hand to her mouth to suppress a smile. "Punishment? Beheadings? You can accuse me of spiraling away from the subject at hand, but it's certainly no worse than jumping to conclusions. Caziel had contacted me, yes. He expressed concern over the situation and asked me to look into it. Since it's become rather obvious, what with your lying, that there is something truly amiss, I have decided to restrict your duties."

"Am I grounded, mother?"

Another tsk. "You shouldn't call me that. The way you looked upon me a moment ago wasn't the type of look a son gives his mother."

Draes snorted and turned to leave. "Let me know when you're finished with your games."

She stood there a moment, silent, likely waiting for him to balk and come begging for lenience. He would not pander to her tonight. The journey had taken the last of his strength and all he wanted was a hot bath and a meal. His loins still stirred from earlier. _I almost lost control, _he thought. How much longer could he keep his addiction in check? It had wormed its way into him, feeding itself through rage, lust, and every emotion that made him feel like less of an elf. _Give into it or resist it. _He had come to that conclusion only a few nights ago, and he chose to be a monster. Perhaps if he had chosen his fate earlier, he would have had the courage to open the Draenei woman's throat with his dagger.

"Draes." She spoke his name plainly, without dressing it up with the sweet tones she often used with him.

He turned.

"It's just scribe work. It seemed like a good idea to give your assistant, Alexion, experience with leading interrogations. Monitor his progress and keep writing your reports, as you have before. Report to Cor'theryn when you are finished and he will assign you more tasks."

"I am not permitted to join the raiding parties anymore?" he asked.

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "Not for now, no. You must go. I know you don't wish to stay here any longer. I'll have the magister open a portal for you."

It was the nicest thing she had done since..ever. Before he could open his mouth to form a word or two of gratitude, she disappeared behind the bookcase, skirts swirling behind.

* * *

_A/N: You know, I just noticed that I cannot count and I mistakenly labeled the Vyskania chapter as being chapter 3 when it's reall chapter 4. My mistake! I'll try to remember to fix it when it's not 5 AM. Anyway, WOW. This fic has laid dormant for so many months, but it has never left my mind. It's been bottled up in there and I've tried to write chapter 5 about seven times. If you're new to the fic, let me know what you think of it so far! If you've been here since the beginning, thank you for sticking with me._


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